#Louis Lafon

[cendrineartist]

Early photography: Tubular Jetty, Mouth of the Adour, Port of Bayonne - Louis Lafon

Early photography: Tubular Jetty, Mouth of the Adour, Port of Bayonne - Louis Lafon https://creativeramblings.com/favorite-photography/tubular-jetty-mouth-adour-port-bayonne-louis-lafon/

Sharing my favorite images from the early days of photography… Title: Tubular Jetty, Mouth of the Adour, Port of Bayonne Date: 1892 Location: France Photographer: Louis Lafon (active 1870s-1890s) Process: albumen silver print from glass negative French photographer Louis Lafon focused on industrial scenes and landscapes featuring man-made artifacts. Source and information: The Metropolitan…

[galleriaartethule]

La librairie Eric FOSSE est heureuse de vous proposer en souscription deux éditions de luxe de l'Album de Jacques TERPANT, l’un des grands dessinateurs actuels. Après la bande dessinée consacrée à Louis-Ferdinand CELINE ou la mise en dessins de deux romans de Jean RASPAIL, entre autres succès,l’artiste propose en un ouvrage son Panthéon personnel, composé de 40 portraits des auteurs qui l’ont pétri et nourri : Enid BLYTON, Robert Louis STEVENSON, Herman MELVILLE, Arthur CONAN DOYLE, Ernest HEMINGWAY, Clifford SIMAK, Howard Phillips LOVECRAFT, Frank HERBERT, Philippe Kindred DICK, Louis-Ferdinand CELINE, MOEBIUS, Yves CHALAND, Jean RASPAIL, Jean GIONO, Emmanuel LE ROY LADURIE, Pierre SCHOENDOERFER, Georges DUBY, Michel DEON, Robert MERLE, Roger NIMIER, Marguerite YOURCENAR, Jim HARRISON, Paul MORAND, V.S. NAIPAUL, Philip ROTH, Pierre MICHON, Pierre BERGOUNIOUX, Jean-Loup TRASSARD, Michel PASTOUREAU, Charles Ferdinand RAMUZ, Pierre JOURDE, Annie ERNAUX, Richard MILLET, Pascal QUIGNARD, Sylvain TESSON, Marie-Hélène LAFON, Jean de LA VARENDE, Knut HAMSUN, Pierre DRIEU LA ROCHELLE, Ron RASH. Pour enrichir votre bibliothèque : Librairie Fosse 12 rue Puvis de Chavannes 75017 Paris librairiefosse@orange.fr

[de-gueules-au-lion-d-or]

Je fais partie de cette génération qui a vu disparaître une civilisation qui avait duré dix siècles, une autre vient que je ne verrai pas. Au détour de lectures, à la radio, je les reconnais, ceux qui comme moi, on entrevu cet ancien monde.

Ils peuvent être très différents : des écrivains comme Pierre Bergounioux, Pierre Jourde, Pierre Michon, Richard Millet Jean-loup Trassard, Jean Clair ou Marie Hélène Lafon, des historiens comme Alain Corbin, le chanteur Jean-louis Murat…Tous ont en commun cette conscience de l'irrémédiable disparition, qui fait parenté entre eux.

C'est la coupure historique entre l'homme et la terre, la disparition de la société agraire traditionnelle qui avait construit ce monde est pour nous comme le Cheshire cat, le chat d'Alice au pays des Merveilles, nous l'avons vu, mais il s'efface, nous en voyons encore le sourire là où beaucoup ne discernent plus rien. Comme Marie-Hélène Lafon, avec son Cantal, Bergounioux et sa Corrèze, Trassard en Mayenne, c’est à partir d’un  pays du Dauphiné, le mien depuis toujours, que je vais chercher: « Ce qu’il reste de nous », dans nos mille ans d’histoire.

C'est un petit bout de texte, que j'avais fait pour présenter "ce qu'il reste de nous" à mon éditeur...Jean-Louis Murat vient de tirer sa référence... je poste sa chanson un singe en hiver, sur l'Indochine, à la fin du clip il y a un soldat avec un singe sur l'épaule, cela pourrait être mon père qui était là-bas, il avait un singe aussi...

Jacques Terpant

[etiennedaho]

LES INROCKUPTIBLES

Etienne fait la couverture du numéro de mai Spécial Cannes.

Il est interviewé par: Françoise Hardy, Lola Lafon, Xavier Veilhan, Jean-Louis Brossard, Jehnny Beth, Miossec, La Femme, Tristan Garcia, Malik Djoudi, Elli Medeiros, Sandrine Kiberlain, Christophe Honoré, Lionel Liminana, Juliette Armanet, Alex Kapranos (Franz Ferdinand), Olivier Assayas, Vanessa Seward, Flavien Berger, Benjamin Biolay, Isabelle Adjani, Dominique Gonzalez-Foerster, Vincent Lacoste.

+ les films de sa vie.

Par Franck Vergeade

Photo: L’Etiquette

Les Inrockuptibles Studio L'Étiquette #franckvergeade #francoisehardy #lolalafon #xavierveilhan #jeanlouisbrossard #jehnnybeth #Miossec #lafemme #tristangarcia #malikdjoudi ELLI MEDEIROS #sandrinekimberlain #christophehonore #lionelliminana #juliettearmanet #alexkrapanos #franzferdinand #OlivierAssayas #vanessaseward #flavierberger #benjaminbiolay #isabelleadjani #DominiqueGonzalezFoerster #VincentLacoste

[rjalker]

On The River, by Guy de Maupassant

I rented a little country house last summer on the banks of the Seine, several leagues from Paris, and went out there to sleep every evening. After a few days I made the acquaintance of one of my neighbors, a man between thirty and forty, who certainly was the most curious specimen I ever met. He was an old boating man, and crazy about boating. He was always beside the water, on the water, or in the water. He must have been born in a boat, and he will certainly die in a boat at the last.

One evening as we were walking along the banks of the Seine I asked him to tell me some stories about his life on the water. The good man at once became animated, his whole expression changed, he became eloquent, almost poetical. There was in his heart one great passion, an absorbing, irresistible passion-the river.

Ah, he said to me, how many memories I have, connected with that river that you see flowing beside us! You people who live in streets know nothing about the river. But listen to a fisherman as he mentions the word. To him it is a mysterious thing, profound, unknown, a land of mirages and phantasmagoria, where one sees by night things that do not exist, hears sounds that one does not recognize, trembles without knowing why, as in passing through a cemetery—and it is, in fact, the most sinister of cemeteries, one in which one has no tomb.

The land seems limited to the river boatman, and on dark nights, when there is no moon, the river seems limitless. A sailor has not the same feeling for the sea. It is often remorseless and cruel, it is true; but it shrieks, it roars, it is honest, the great sea; while the river is silent and perfidious. It does not speak, it flows along without a sound; and this eternal motion of flowing water is more terrible to me than the high waves of the ocean.

Dreamers maintain that the sea hides in its bosom vast tracts of blue where those who are drowned roam among the big fishes, amid strange forests and crystal grottoes. The river has only black depths where one rots in the slime. It is beautiful, however, when it sparkles in the light of the rising sun and gently laps its banks covered with whispering reeds.

The poet says, speaking of the ocean, “O waves, what mournful tragedies ye know —Deep waves, the dread of kneeling mothers' hearts! Ye tell them to each other as ye roll On flowing tide, and this it is that gives The sad despairing tones unto your voice As on ye roll at eve by mounting tide.”

Well, I think that the stories whispered by the slender reeds, with their little soft voices, must be more sinister than the lugubrious tragedies told by the roaring of the waves.

But as you have asked for some of my recollections, I will tell you of a singular adventure that happened to me ten years ago.

I was living, as I am now, in Mother Lafon's house, and one of my closest friends, Louis Bernet who has now given up boating, his low shoes and his bare neck, to go into the Supreme Court, was living in the village of C., two leagues further down the river. We dined together every day, sometimes at his house, sometimes at mine.

One evening as I was coming home along and was pretty tired, rowing with difficulty my big boat, a twelve-footer, which I always took out at night, I stopped a few moments to draw breath near the reed-covered point yonder, about two hundred metres from the railway bridge.

It was a magnificent night, the moon shone brightly, the river gleamed, the air was calm and soft. This peacefulness tempted me. I thought to myself that it would be pleasant to smoke a pipe in this spot. I took up my anchor and cast it into the river.

The boat floated downstream with the current, to the end of the chain, and then stopped, and I seated myself in the stern on my sheepskin and made myself as comfortable as possible. There was not a sound to be heard, except that I occasionally thought I could perceive an almost imperceptible lapping of the water against the bank, and I noticed taller groups of reeds which assumed strange shapes and seemed, at times, to move.

The river was perfectly calm, but I felt myself affected by the unusual silence that surrounded me. All the creatures, frogs and toads, those nocturnal singers of the marsh, were silent.

Suddenly a frog croaked to my right, and close beside me. I shuddered. It ceased, and I heard nothing more, and resolved to smoke, to soothe my mind. But, although I was a noted colorer of pipes, I could not smoke; at the second draw I was nauseated, and gave up trying. I began to sing. The sound of my voice was distressing to me. So I lay still, but presently the slight motion of the boat disturbed me. It seemed to me as if she were making huge lurches, from bank to bank of the river, touching each bank alternately. Then I felt as though an invisible force, or being, were drawing her to the surface of the water and lifting her out, to let her fall again. I was tossed about as in a tempest. I heard noises around me. I sprang to my feet with a single bound. The water was glistening, all was calm.

I saw that my nerves were somewhat shaky, and I resolved to leave the spot. I pulled the anchor chain, the boat began to move; then I felt a resistance. I pulled harder, the anchor did not come up; it had caught on something at the bottom of the river and I could not raise it. I began pulling again, but all in vain. Then, with my oars, I turned the boat with its head up stream to change the position of the anchor. It was no use, it was still caught. I flew into a rage and shook the chain furiously. Nothing budged. I sat down, disheartened, and began to reflect on my situation. I could not dream of breaking this chain, or detaching it from the boat, for it was massive and was riveted at the bows to a piece of wood as thick as my arm. However, as the weather was so fine I thought that it probably would not be long before some fisherman came to my aid. My ill-luck had quieted me. I sat down and was able, at length, to smoke my pipe. I had a bottle of rum; I drank two or three glasses, and was able to laugh at the situation. It was very warm; so that, if need be, I could sleep out under the stars without any great harm.

All at once there was a little knock at the side of the boat. I gave a start, and a cold sweat broke out all over me. The noise was, doubtless, caused by some piece of wood borne along by the current, but that was enough, and I again became a prey to a strange nervous agitation. I seized the chain and tensed my muscles in a desperate effort. The anchor held firm. I sat down again, exhausted.

The river had slowly become enveloped in a thick white fog which lay close to the water, so that when I stood up I could see neither the river, nor my feet, nor my boat; but could perceive only the tops of the reeds, and farther off in the distance the plain, lying white in the moonlight, with big black patches rising up from it towards the sky, which were formed by groups of Italian poplars. I was as if buried to the waist in a cloud of cotton of singular whiteness, and all sorts of strange fancies came into my mind. I thought that someone was trying to climb into my boat which I could no longer distinguish, and that the river, hidden by the thick fog, was full of strange creatures which were swimming all around me. I felt horribly uncomfortable, my forehead felt as if it had a tight band round it, my heart beat so that it almost suffocated me, and, almost beside myself, I thought of swimming away from the place. But then, again, the very idea made me tremble with fear. I saw myself, lost, going by guesswork in this heavy fog, struggling about amid the grasses and reeds which I could not escape, my breath rattling with fear, neither seeing the bank, nor finding my boat; and it seemed as if I would feel myself dragged down by the feet to the bottom of these black waters.

In fact, as I should have had to ascend the stream at least five hundred metres before finding a spot free from grasses and rushes where I could land, there were nine chances to one that I could not find my way in the fog and that I should drown, no matter how well I could swim.

I tried to reason with myself. My will made me resolve not to be afraid, but there was something in me besides my will, and that other thing was afraid. I asked myself what there was to be afraid of. My brave “ego” ridiculed my coward “ego,” and never did I realize, as on that day, the existence in us of two rival personalities, one desiring a thing, the other resisting, and each winning the day in turn.

This stupid, inexplicable fear increased, and became terror. I remained motionless, my eyes staring, my ears on the stretch with expectation. Of what? I did not know, but it must be something terrible. I believe if it had occurred to a fish to jump out of the water, as often happens, nothing more would have been required to make me fall over, stiff and unconscious.

However, by a violent effort I succeeded in becoming almost rational again. I took up my bottle of rum and took several pulls. Then an idea came to me, and I began to shout with all my might towards all the points of the compass in succession. When my throat was absolutely paralyzed I listened. A dog was howling, at a great distance.

I drank some more rum and stretched myself out at the bottom of the boat. I remained there about an hour, perhaps two, not sleeping, my eyes wide open, with nightmares all about me. I did not dare to rise, and yet I intensely longed to do so. I delayed it from moment to moment. I said to myself: “Come, get up!” and I was afraid to move. At last I raised myself with infinite caution as though my life depended on the slightest sound that I might make; and looked over the edge of the boat. I was dazzled by the most marvellous, the most astonishing sight that it is possible to see. It was one of those phantasmagoria of fairyland, one of those sights described by travellers on their return from distant lands, whom we listen to without believing.

The fog which, two hours before, had floated on the water, had gradually cleared off and massed on the banks, leaving the river absolutely clear; while it formed on either bank an uninterrupted wall six or seven metres high, which shone in the moonlight with the dazzling brilliance of snow. One saw nothing but the river gleaming with light between these two white mountains; and high above my head sailed the great full moon, in the midst of a bluish, milky sky.

All the creatures in the water were awake. The frogs croaked furiously, while every few moments I heard, first to the right and then to the left, the abrupt, monotonous and mournful metallic note of the bullfrogs. Strange to say, I was no longer afraid. I was in the midst of such an unusual landscape that the most remarkable things would not have astonished me.

How long this lasted I do not know, for I ended by falling asleep. When I opened my eyes the moon had gone down and the sky was full of clouds. The water lapped mournfully, the wind was blowing, it was pitch dark. I drank the rest of the rum, then listened, while I trembled, to the rustling of the reeds and the foreboding sound of the river. I tried to see, but could not distinguish my boat, nor even my hands, which I held up close to my eyes.

Little by little, however, the blackness became less intense. All at once I thought I noticed a shadow gliding past, quite near me. I shouted, a voice replied; it was a fisherman. I called him; he came near and I told him of my ill-luck. He rowed his boat alongside of mine and, together, we pulled at the anchor chain. The anchor did not move. Day came, gloomy gray, rainy and cold, one of those days that bring one sorrows and misfortunes. I saw another boat. We hailed it. The man on board of her joined his efforts to ours, and gradually the anchor yielded. It rose, but slowly, slowly, loaded down by a considerable weight. At length we perceived a black mass and we drew it on board. It was the corpse of an old women with a big stone round her neck.

[yama-bato]

Tubular Jetty, Mouth of the Adour, Port of Bayonne. Artist: Louis Lafon (French, active 1870s–90s).

http://www.metmuseum.org/art/collection/search/289044

[firstfullmoon]

sorry if you’ve answered a similar question to this but what were your most memorable reads of ‘21??

here we go! in no particular order:

fiction: milkman by anna burns, wolf hall by hilary mantel, de nos frères blessés by joseph andras, chavirer by lola lafon, swimming home by deborah levy, the friend by sigrid nunez, the group by mary mccarthy, commonwealth by ann patchett, mrs dalloway by virginia woolf, eileen by ottessa moshfegh

non fiction: trick mirror by jia tolentino, the liars’ club & cherry by mary karr, james baldwin’s collected essays, the copenhagen trilogy by tove ditlevsen, becoming a man: half a life story by paul monette, they can’t kill us until they kill us by hanif abdurraqib, letters to a young poet by rainer maria rilke, qui a tué mon père by édouard louis

poetry: a fortune for your disaster by hanif abdurraqib, calling a wolf a wolf by kaveh akbar, space struck by paige lewis, walking to martha’s vineyard by franz wright, kingdom animalia by aracelis girmay, love alone: eighteen elegies for rog by paul monette, the best poems of jane kenyon, grocery list poems by rhiannon mcgavin

[wellntruly]

The thing is that Victor Hugo's Les Miserables Vol. I, Book Third, Chapter I - 'The Year 1817', may be the best piece of history writing every published.

You could get a masters degree just in trying to learn about every person and event he lists off, and yet even utterly lost in the references, it sings. It's written in the most fascinating tense, a strangely present past that gives it this rolling, living energy. The breadth of detail could overwhelm, nearly does, if he didn't deliver it all with this concise, dancing deftness of phrasing that is often so funny, always so human.

All my notes from Book III are just from this chapter and are all variously verbal exclamations over the quality of the writing I was reading. Here are several of these sections:

---

"In 1817 Pelligrini sang; Mademoiselle Bigottini danced; Potier reigned; Odry did not yet exist. Madame Saqui had succeeded to Forioso. There were still Prussians in France.

...

In 1817, in the side alleys of [the] Champ des Mars, two great cylinders of wood might have been seen lying in the rain, rotting amid the grass, painted blue, with traces of eagles and bees, from which the gilding was falling. These were the columns, which two years before had upheld the Emperor’s platform in the Champ de Mai. They were blackened here and there with the scorches of the bivouac of Austrians encamped near Gros-Caillou. Two or three of these columns had disappeared into these bivouac fires, and had warmed the large hands of the Imperial troops. The Field of May had this remarkable point: that it had been held in the month of June and in the Field of March. In this year, 1817, two things were popular: the Voltaire-Touquet and the snuffbox a la Charter. The most recent Parisian sensation was the crime of Dautun, who had thrown his brother’s head into the fountain of the Flower Market.

...

The palace of Thermes, in the Rue de La Harpe, served as a shop for a cooper. On the platform of the octagonal tower of the Hotel de Cluny, the little shed of boards, which had served as an observatory to Messier, the naval astronomer under Louis XVI, was still to be seen. The Duchesse de Duras read to three or four friends her unpublished Ourika, in her boudoir furnished by X in sky-blue satin. The N’s were scratched off the Louvre. The bridge of Austerlitz had abdicated, and was entitled the bridge of the King’s Garden, a double enigma, which disguised the bridge of Austerlitz and the Jardin des Plantes at one stroke. Louis XVIII, much preoccupied while annotating Horace with the corner of his fingernail, heroes who have become emperors, and makers of wooden shoes who have become dauphins, had two anxieties—Napoleon and Mathurin Bruneau.

...

L’Epingle Noir was already plotting in his own quarter. Delaverderie was conferring with Trogoff. M. Decazes, who was liberal to a degree, reigned. Chateaubriand stood every morning at his window at No. 27 Rue Saint-Dominique, clad in footed trousers, and slippers, with a madras kerchief knotted over his gray hair, with his eyes fixed on a mirror, a complete set of dentist’s instruments spread out before him, cleaning his teeth, which were charming, while he dictated the monarchy according to the Charter to M. Pillage, his secretary. Criticism, assuming an authoritative tone, preferred Lafon to Talma. M. de Feletez signed himself A.; M. Hoffman signed himself Z. Charles Nodier wrote Therese Aubert. Divorce was abolished. Lyceums called themselves colleges. The collegians, decorated on the collar with a golden fleur-de-lis, fought each other apropos of the King of Rome. The counter-police of the chateau had denounced to her Royal Highness Madame, the portrait, everywhere exhibited, of M. the Duc d’Orleans, who made a better appearance in his uniform of a colonel-general of hussars than M. the Duc de Berri, in his uniform of a colonel-general of dragoons—a serious inconvenience.

...

The quarrel over the valley of Dappes was begun between Switzerland and France by a memoir from Captain, afterward General Dufour. Saint-Simon, ignored, was erecting his sublime dream. There was a celebrated Fourier at the Academy of Science, whom posterity has forgotten; and in some garret an obscure Fourier, whom the future will recall. Lord Byron was beginning to make his mark; a note to a poem by Millevoye introduced him to France in these terms: a certain Lord Baron. David d’Angers was trying to work in marble.

...

M. Francois de Neufchateau, the praiseworthy cultivar of the memory of Parmentier, made a thousand efforts to have pomme de terre, pronounced “parmentier,” and succeeded therein not at all. The Abbé Gregoire, ex-bishop, ex-conventionary, ex-senator, had passed, in the royalist polemics, to the state of “Infamous Gregoire.” The locution of which we have made use—passed to the state of—has been condemned as a neologism by M. Royer Collard. Under the third arch of the Pont de Jena, the new stone with which, the two years previously, the mining aperture made by Blucher to blow up the bridge had been stopped up, was still recognizable on account of its whiteness."

---

The rest introduces young Fantine and her friends in a lushly besotted portrait of Romance and betrayal and it simply cannot compare to 'The Year 1817'; the fourth book is 12 pages.

Books 3-4 /48 ✓✓

[Brickolage]

[meta-squash]

Brick Club 1.3.1 “The Year 1817″

This chapter is just a massive list of a ton of stuff that was happening around 1817. This time, I finally did what I’ve been meaning to do the last 2 times I read the brick. I finally looked up and wrote down a little bit of info for pretty much every reference in this chapter.

What I got out of that is that it’s a lot of Hugo talking about all these people who supported Napoleon when he was emperor, who then suddenly turned around and supported the Bourbons once Napoleon fell. It’s actually really interesting looking in to all these people and seeing just how many of them supported Napoleon until his exile to St Helena and then immediately turned around and supported the Bourbons without seeming to feel much conflict. Hugo’s also just generally mentioning a lot of popular writers/performers/artists/politicians/etc of the time.

Hugo is definitely establishing the political and cultural tone of the time here, but it’s hard to get an adequate sense of that as someone who is 200 years out from that point and only really recognizes the Medusa wreck, Moliere, and Jacques-Louis David in terms of familiar references.

I am having fun doing this little bit of research, and it’s making me wish I knew how to get a good starting point for properly learning about French history. Mathurin Bruneau’s whole life sounds like an absolute trip and I want to know more.

There were a number of references I couldn’t find any info on. I assumed Ordy was the Polish city, but I’m not sure. I can’t find any info on Voltaire-Tourquet, and I don’t even know if that’s a person or a place. Also I could find almost nothing on Pleignier etc, and nothing on the des patriotes conspiracy, only that it was a thing that apparently happened, whatever it was (contextually I assume it was a plot against the monarchy but I couldn’t find any details). Nain Jaune into Miroir--I assume those are both newspapers? But all I could find was info on either a card game or a fairy tale story. There’s a whole chunk of names and references that I couldn’t seem to find anything on (Hugo doesn’t help much when he doesn’t supply first names): Piet, Bacol, O’Mahony, Chappedelaine, l’Epingle Noire, Delaverderie, Trogoff, etc.

I think Lafon is Jean Lafon, the priest who undermined Napoleon via propaganda/rumors/etc? I may be wrong. I also definitely don’t understand the “King of Rome” reference at all. I assume this is commentary on monarchy vs republic?

Hugo also specifically mentions a few socialist philosophers/thinkers. He tosses praise for a few of them in among the criticisms and just plain old facts.

I did enjoy Hugo’s particular little bit of sass about Angoulême being given the status of a seaport town, considering it’s 100+ km from the water.

We also have another Hugolian pun here. Forgive any translation mistakes, google translate is not always my friend (and I really need to find a good way to learn French that isn’t duolingo): “Même quand Loyson vole, on sent qu'il a des pattes” is the line. “Loyson” becomes the homophone “l’oison”, which translates (I think) to “Even when the gosling flies; we sense that he has legs.” Or something like that.

Hugo’s description of a steamboat as “a thing that smoked and clacked along on the Seine, making the noise of a swimming dog” is such an evocative image. I’d love to know why he calls the steamboat a “machine of little value” and “a utopia,” especially because just above, he praises Charles Fourier, who was a founder of utopian socialism. I thought for a minute maybe it has to do with his daughter’s death? But she didn’t die on a steamer, I don’t think, so I have no idea.

He does go on to kind of expand on all these people that he’s describing who supported Napoleon and then turned around and supported the Restoration, saying that “Traitors showed themselves openly, stripped even of hypocrisy; men who had gone over to the enemy on the eve of a battle made no secret of their bribes and shamelessly walked abroad in daylight in their cynicism of wealth and honor...” People who had at one point supported the Revolution or Napoleon suddenly and unashamedly ingratiating themselves to the Bourbons and supporting the Restoration. The snark comparing political hypocrites to people ignoring English public toilets with a sign that says “Please adjust your dress before leaving” is too funny.

I love Hugo’s weird propensity for listing off a ton of things that either set the tone of the scene or that are somehow symbolically important and then at the end of the chapter either explaining his metaphors outright or handwaving the entire chapter away with a “this isn’t really that important. Well, it kind of is, but not really.”

I think what’s really interesting about this whole chapter is the way he lists off so many cultural figures and events of the year to set the scene--and yet I don’t think a single one of these people or events have an effect on Fantine’s fate.

[met-photos]

Tubular Jetty, Mouth of the Adour, Port of Bayonne by Louis Lafon, Metropolitan Museum of Art: Photography

Purchase, Alfred Stieglitz Society Gifts, 2008 Metropolitan Museum of Art, New York, NY Medium: Albumen silver print from glass negative

http://www.metmuseum.org/art/collection/search/289044

[cendrineartist]

Early photography: Tubular Jetty, Mouth of the Adour, Port of Bayonne - Louis Lafon

Sharing my favorite images from the early days of photography… Title: Tubular Jetty, Mouth of the Adour, Port of Bayonne Date: 1892 Location: France Photographer: Louis Lafon (1870-1890) Process: albumen silver print from glass negative Source and information: The Metropolitan Museum of Art Check out my photography!

[the-met-art]

Lessart Viaduct on the Rance River by Louis Lafon, The Met's Photography Department

Medium: Albumen silver print from glass negative

Purchase, Alfred Stieglitz Society Gifts, 2008 Metropolitan Museum of Art, New York, NY

http://www.metmuseum.org/art/collection/search/289045

[tokyowinegirl]

2020.8.29 ムルソー会

twitterの有志で集まったムルソー会 a.k.a. アタラクシア(南ア)はムルソー プルミエ・クリュに匹敵するのか、を検証する会。

Dom Pérignon 1990 MOÉT et CHANDON 

いきなりのバースビンテージのドン・ペリニヨンに脱帽。 泡立ちは非常に上品に、ゆっくりと立ち昇る。ねっとりとした質感。 香りはグシュグシュに熟してコンポートになったリンゴ、紹興酒のような熟成感、味わいはクリーミーな舌触り、ナッツの香ばしさ、ブリオッシュの甘やかさと芳ばしさ、複雑性… 初っ端からデゼールをいただいているかのような満足感。

ATARAXIA CHARDONNAY 2015

2020年現在、バックビンテージとなってしまい手に入らない2015年のアタラクシア。 外観はややグリーンも帯びている印象。樽香の立ち昇り方は私的にはピュリニー・モンラッシェを彷彿とさせるような、硬質感がある。果実はレモンのフレーバー。後からフレッシュな白桃のような印象。ただ、ピュリニー・モンラッシェよりはやや重心の重い印象もある。 味わいは香りの印象とは裏腹にすらりとしたアタックで、酸が目立つ。

SEVEN FLAGS 2015 PAUL CLUVER

ゴールドっぽい濃い色調。少しハーブのような印象もあり。 樽香はあるもののやや線の細い感じがある。 柔らかで、アタラクシアに比べて果実味が強い。 溌剌とした印象だが酸は穏やかに感じる。

Meursault-Charmes 2013 Louis Latour

この日に飲んだたくさんのムルソーの中で、もっともムルソーっぽいと好評だったのがこのルイ・ラトゥールのムルソー。私が持ち込んだもの。

外観はゴールドがかって非常に濃い色調。

少し蜜っぽいねっとりと鼻にまとわりつくような香り。思ったよりも樽香は優しく感じられる。熟した黄桃やリンゴの、凝縮した果実味が印象的。

Meursalut 2017 ROULOT

ルーロの村名ムルソー。 フレッシュな果実味が第一印象。洋梨など、柔らかく優しい印象の果実が中心。

Meursault-Blagny Premier Cru 2016 Matrot

けっこう面白かったのがマトロのムルソー。微発泡していて、火薬や白胡椒など少し燻したような、弾けるような香りの印象。カリッと芳ばしさがあり、キリッとする硬質感がある。果実は白桃。

Meursault Clos des Perrieres 1er Cru 2013 Dom. Albert Grivault

樽が穏やかに浮き上がってくる。酸は穏やか。果実はグレープフルーツ？

アタラクシアにとても近い。

Meursault Goutte d'Or 1er Cru 2010 Dom. Coche Bizouard

熟成していて梅酒のような印象がある。ソーテルヌの少し若いやつ…のような。なんならシェリーっぽいともいえる。

リンゴのコンポート、杏のコンポート。2010年よりももっと古いかと思ってしまうような熟成感。ただ、味わいは香りの印象に比べて想像より軽やか。

Meursault 1er Cru Les Charmes 2005 Nicolas Potel

外観はゴールド。

柔らかな蜜の香り。ヴィンテージに比べて若い印象。若い梅。ボールドな印象が前面に出ている。

Meursault 1er Cru Genevrieres 2011 Bouchard Pere & Fils

熟したラフランスやメロンの香り。

樽香は柔らかく、ヴィンテージに比べて若々しい印象。華やかで、ずっと嗅いでいたくなるような香り！

MEURSAULT CLOS DE LA BARRE 2009 DOMAINE DES COMTES LAFON

香りは穏やか。紹興酒の優しいやつみたいな…。樽香は目立たない。バランス良し。

KONGSGAARD 2016

樽は優しめでねっとりとした味わい。でも全体的にはかなり力強い印象。もう少し熟成させてみたい！

RIEUSSEC SAUTERNES 1985

おまけのソーテルヌ。味わう余裕なし…！

一番気に入ったのはやっぱりクロドラバールだけど、次いでブシャールの香りはかなり良かった！

あとマトロのBlagnyのムルソーもおもしろくて、また飲みたい！

[lemaupertus]

https://e3o.org/e3o/livres-reveillez-votre-intuition-2/

Livres : Réveillez votre intuition

Uchronie[s] – New Harlem – Glénat BD. 2014 La suite de la grande sage uchronique de Corbeyran, ici épaulé par la redoutable efficacité de Tibery. New Harlem : au sein de cette réalité où les noirs occupent tous les poste-clés de la société, reléguant les blancs dans des ghettos crasseux, les dons de prescience de … Lire plus… Uchronie[s] - New Harlem - Glénat BD. 2014 La suite de la grande sage uchronique de Corbeyran, ici épaulé par la redoutable efficacité de Tibery. New Harlem : au sein de cette réalité où les noirs occupent tous les poste-clés de la société, reléguant les blancs dans des ghettos crasseux, les dons de prescience de Zack l'ont conduit à occuper une place de choix dans une multinationale pour laquelle il prédit l'avenir favorable ou non des paris financiers de ses employeurs. Enlevé par ses propres parents, qui l'avaient vendus au Magnat Tyrone Brown, et qui souhaitaient 20 ans après lui soutirer encore un peu plus d'argent, Zack va être accusé du meurtre de ce dernier. Et voir totalement s'effondrer les piliers de sa vie. Ainsi que les fondements de ses convictions les plus sûres. Car même ses plus vieux amis semblent prêts à le trahir. Simplement pour qu'il n'utilise plus une part insoupçonnée de son don de prescience. Une part qui pourrait bien causer la ruine de New Harlem... Réveillez votre intuition Exergue. 2017 Avec simplicité et efficacité, Sébastien Ranucci vous initie au réveil de votre potentiel intuitif, présent chez tous mais latent chez la plupart, de manière à pouvoir capter consciemment les innombrables perceptions extrasensorielles qui vous traversent à chaque instant. Dans cet ouvrage, accessible aux débutants comme aux « initiés », vous apprendrez progressivement à transcender les limites spatio-temporelles de votre perception habituelle en vous connectant aux niveaux subtils de votre être. Vous ferez ainsi l'expérience consciente de votre « anatomie occulte » et de votre nature véritable. Puis vous vous libérerez des limites de votre ego pour accéder aux perceptions extrasensorielles dont les niveaux vibratoires sont considérablement plus élevés que ceux du monde matériel. Sébastien Ranucci est consultant et formateur dans le domaine de la perception extrasensorielle et du développement personnel. Après un parcours professionnel dans les ressources humaines, il travaille aujourd'hui dans le cadre de consultations privées ou de formations. Revivre nos vies antérieures FeniXX. 2015 La réincarnation passionne les esprits : au cours d'un débat télévisé sur ce thème, le 6 septembre 1983, le public des Dossiers de l'Écran a littéralement pris d'assaut le standard téléphonique pour... réclamer des preuves. Car l'heure n'est plus à la croyance, mais à la science sûre, fondée sur l'expérience. Prouver la réincarnation ? L'enjeu est de taille et délicate l'entreprise : ce serait, du même coup, prouver l'existence de l'âme et sa survivance. Il ne suffit plus, comme jadis, de citer la longue liste de témoignages convaincants et des noms fameux - Edgar Cayce, Bridey Murphy, etc. - sans oublier les enquêtes remarquables du Pr. Stevenson. Il faut oser reprendre les dossiers, en évoquant toutes les explications de rechange, pour tester la force de chaque cas à la lumière de nos connaissances actuelles. Ce livre vous invite à cette nécessaire exploration rationnelle et méthodique de l'éventail complet de ce qu'on connaît aujourd'hui comme preuves expérimentales de la réincarnation. Spécialiste très averti de ce problème et - de longue date - passionné de spiritualité vivante, Jean-Louis Siémons est aussi un scientifique de métier, rompu à l'enseignement (il est docteur ès sciences physiques et maître-assistant dans une grande école d'ingénieurs de Paris) : c'est dire qu'il ne s'en laisse pas conter et qu'il sait faire la part du merveilleux et de l'authentique dans l'ensemble souvent confus des témoignages relatés. La cause de la réincarnation ne peut que gagner à ce genre d'étude impartiale qui n'a d'autre but que de découvrir des certitudes. Voici, dans un style alerte, un large bilan des dernières recherches, mais aussi un travail de synthèse visant à dégager, de la masse des faits observés, une perspective générale ouvrant à une meilleure compréhension de ce qui n'est encore, pour beaucoup, qu'un troublant mystère : la grande destinée de l'être humain lancé dans sa quête d'infini. L’évolution spirituelle de l’antiquité à nos jours LANORE Fernand Lanore. 2015 Au seuil de l'étrange FeniXX. 1993 Où se situe la frontière précise entre le normal et le paranormal ? Depuis longtemps, la science essaye de démontrer que certains faits existent et que d’autres sont imaginaires. Or, ces phénomènes, réputés ne pas « exister », se manifestent de façon si évidente que nul ne peut les nier. D’innombrables témoins, parmi lesquels se trouvent des savants, affirment avoir effectivement connu des aventures en marge de la réalité tangible. Dénonçant le préjugé trop commode tendant à présenter la parapsychologie comme un leurre uniquement destiné aux crédules ou aux simples d’esprit, Sylvie Simon rapporte ici, avec passion, maints faits et témoignages extraordinaires. Ils concernent des domaines aussi divers que la télépathie, les rêves prémonitoires, la voyance, l’astrologie, les expériences aux portes de la mort, la communication avec l’au-delà et beaucoup d’autres phénomènes qui dépassent, il est vrai, les limites restreintes de notre entendement. Se basant sur les nouveaux concepts de la science qui bouleversent des dogmes que l’on croyait établis pour l’éternité, Sylvie Simon bat aussi résolument en brèche le mur épais des fausses certitudes. Un mur qui nous sépare de l’univers fantastique chargé d’espérances qui nous entoure, souvent invisible dans le déroulement de nos vies quotidiennes. Un livre captivant, clair, abondamment documenté, qui renvoie dos à dos aussi bien les sceptiques par principe que les exploiteurs en tous genres qui ne pensent qu’à cultiver le sensationnel. La Parapsychologie Entre Le Marteau Et L’Enclume Trafford Publishing. 2011 La parapsychologie entre le marteau et lenclume ? Ce livre pionnier prsente le rsum de plusieurs annes de recherche scientifique, de laboratoire et thorique, sur les phnomnes paranormaux en gnral et les merveilles du soufisme islamique connues par les miracles en particulier. Et le livre observe les miracles la lumire des nouvelles connaissances dans la parapsychologie et les branches des sciences traditionnelles concernes, en soutenant ses propositions avec plus de trois cent cinquante rfrences scientifiques spcialises. De plus, le livre value les thories et les mthodes de recherche dans la parapsychologie du point de vue de la pense soufie reprsente par la Tariqa Casnazaniyyah. Et le livre explique en dtail ltat de paralysie totale auquel la parapsychologie est parvenue cause davoir une tendance matrialiste pure reprsente par sa tentative faite pour vider les phnomnes paranormaux de tous leurs constituants spirituels en les humanisant , car elle suppose que lhomme est la source, le centre et laxe de tous les pouvoirs paranormaux. ? Le livre traite ltude complte quont faite les deux auteurs dun genre particulier de prdispositions paranormales que les matres de la Tariqa Casnazaniyyah ont permis leurs disciples de les produire et elles sont les activits connues par la gurison paranormale des lsions corporelles produites intentionnellement . Durant leur pratique de la gurison paranormale des lsions corporelles produites intentionnellement, les disciples exposent leurs corps intentionnellement des blessures qui sont dans les circonstances ordinaires trs dangereuses, plutt elles sont le plus souvent mortelles, mais sans quils subissent un mal. Et le livre traite ltude des phnomnes de la gurison paranormale des lsions corporelles produites intentionnellement du point de vue des sciences modernes, en montrant linfluence positive et grande que peut avoir ltude de ces phnomnes sur plusieurs sciences. ? Le sujet de ce livre pionnier le rend le premier dans son genre non seulement au niveau du monde arabe mais aussi au niveau international. Psychologie La troisième porte Michel Lafon. 2013 "Enigmologue" de renommée mondiale, Jeremy Logan s'est spécialisé dans l'investigation et l'interprétation des phénomènes étranges et paranormaux. Mais quand il est recruté par le millionnaire Porter Stone, célèbre explorateur et archéologue, il est loin de se douter de ce qui l'attend. Stone est persuadé d'avoir trouvé l'emplacement de la tombe du mythique roi Narmer, premier pharaon à avoir unifié la haute et la basse Égypte, trois mille ans avant J-C. Mieux, il est convaincu que le plus grand trésor de l'Égypte antique est enterré avec lui : la légendaire double-couronne de Narmer, que l'on dit dotée de pouvoirs extraordinaires. Enfouie depuis des millénaires dans l'un des lieux les plus inhospitaliers du monde : le Sudd, une immense zone de marécages et de mangroves inextricables à la frontière de l'Égypte et du Soudan. Dans ce décor de cauchemar mêlé de boue, de brume épaisse et de végétation pourrissante, une série d'accidents inexplicables réveille, au sein de l'équipe, la rumeur d'une ancienne malédiction : quiconque briserait le sceau de la troisième porte du tombeau serait promis à d'atroces souffrances. Logan a pour mission d'apaiser les craintes et de démêler le vrai du faux, mais plus son enquête avance, plus il soupçonne que Stone lui cache quelque chose. Quel danger terrifiant est tapi au fond du marais ? Et la plus grande découverte archéologique de tous les temps vaut-elle de courir un tel risque ?

#Rétrocognition

[firstfullmoon]

hiii what should i read next from my library loans!! the corrections by jonathan franzen, white teeth by zadie smith or the overstory by richard powers (i’m into big books lately) - tell me if you’ve read & liked any of them! OR pour les franchophones j’ai aussi le nouveau édouard louis, écrire de duras, mercy mary patty de lola lafon ou le ciel par dessus le toit de natacha appanah 

[vinhosemsegredo]

Se você encontrar um rolha que parece ser de aglomerado, preste atenção, pode ser uma rolha com a marca DIAM de alta tecnologia francesa. Esta empresa vende 1,8 bilhões de rolhas por ano, sendo 79% para vinhos tranquilos, 17% para espumantes e champagnes, e 4% para destilados. Movimenta 145 milhões de euros por ano.

Reparem os vinhos abaixo, Montrachet de produtores famosos, utilizando as rolhas DIAM. O principal motivo é a garantia da isenção do chamado Bouchonné, advindo do TCA, presente em pequena porcentagem nas rolhas de cortiça maciças. Isso posto, vamos entender todo o processo de fabricação.

reparem a marca DIAM na segunda foto

vinhos de elite confiando na marca

Tudo começa com a coleta da cortiça em regiões do sul da Espanha, Portugal, e também na França nas regiões da Provence, Languedoc-Roussillon e Córsega. A maior parte vem da Espanha, pois a área de sobreiros na França é sensivelmente menor.

Chegada a cortiça nas fábricas, tanto na Espanha, como na França, elas são tratadas e secadas antes da moagem das placas. Aí está o pulo do gato, destrói-se a cortiça, para reconstruí-la pelo processo Diamant, descrito no vídeo abaixo.

Na reconstrução da rolha, a cortiça moída é agregada com microesferas de origem vegetal e ligadas com cera de abelhas. Como podemos notar, são todos produtos naturais com respeito à natureza, de produção renovável  e sustentabilidade. Essas esferas de origem vegetal juntamente com a cortiça, vão permitir a perfeita elasticidade e permeabilidade das rolhas. O elemento de ligação é justamente a cera do mel das abelhas.

Relembrando o pulo do gato, a cortiça moída é colocada em grandes tubos altos e recebe de baixo para cima CO2 sob condições precisas de temperatura e pressão. A passagem deste gás através da cortiça moída permite retirar por vapor aromas indesejáveis, inclusive o inconveniente TCA e suas famílias. Esse é o ponto fundamental de todo o processo.

Voltando às fotos acima, reparem que ao lado da marca DIAM temos o número 30 em uma, e em outra as iniciais GG (Grand Cru). Tanto uma como a outra, refere-se às melhores rolhas por este processo, podendo garantir perfeita vedação por 30 anos. Elas são elaboradas com precisas dosagens das microesferas para garantir permeabilidade e elasticidade por longos anos em adega.

destilados, vinhos, e espumantes

Para vinhos mais simples temos as rolhas DIAM 1, DIAM 3, DIAM 5, DIAM 10 e DIAM 30. Resumindo, de acordo com a longevidade dos vinhos temos níveis de elasticidade e permeabilidade compatíveis com a necessidade e de acordo com preços mais justos com cada tipo de rolha. Os números correspondem a um, três, cinco, dez, e trinta anos, de armazenagem em garrafa, respectivamente.

Clientes de peso como Chateau Carbonnieux (Bordeaux), Chateau Angelus (Bordeaux), Billecart-Salmon (champagne), Louis Jadot (bourgogne), Comtes Lafon (bourgogne), Paolo Bisol (prosecco), Bodegas Rural (argentina), Grupo Peñaflor (argentina), aderiram ao sistema Diamant com depoimentos consistentes e de grande aprovação. Maiores informações: http://www.diam-bouchon-liege.com

Por outro lado, a Empresa Amorim portuguesa, a maior produtora de rolhas do mundo, em defesa de rolha de cortiça maciça, na busca incessante pela eliminação do TCA, o terrível bouchonné, vem desenvolvendo métodos cada vez mais eficientes. A última novidade trata-se da tecnologia chamada NDtech. Essa tecnologia é uma parceria entre a Amorim e uma empresa inglesa especializada em análise de cromatografia rápida. A rolha pode ser analisada em poucos segundos, sendo descartada automaticamente se apresentar níveis de TCA acima de 0,5 ng/l (ng é um nanograma, ou seja, um bilionésimo de grama). Para se ter uma ideia desta medida, é como se jogássemos uma gota de TCA em 800 piscinas olímpicas. Portanto, esse sistema da Amorim para suas melhores rolhas destinadas a vinhos especiais, garantem total proteção ao TCA. No caso do sistema Diamant, o rigor é ainda maior, com medidas inferiores a 0,3 ng/l. Maiores informações, http://www.amorim.com 

Em resumo, as maiores empresas que lidam com cortiça, e consequentemente rolhas, se mexem exaustivamente na eliminação total do TCA em seus produtos. As soluções vão surgindo e o consumidor e produtores de vinhos só tendem a ganhar, preservando os autênticos sabores do vinho, sem inesperadas frustações. 

  DIAM: Revolução nas Rolhas Se você encontrar um rolha que parece ser de aglomerado, preste atenção, pode ser uma rolha com a marca DIAM de alta tecnologia francesa.